


Pulmonary

by LittleWhiteTie



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Pining Shiro (Voltron), Political Marriage, Sickfic, So Much Pining Shiro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 04:43:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13710081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleWhiteTie/pseuds/LittleWhiteTie
Summary: Infected with a disease that feeds off of heartache, flowers bloom in Shiro’s lungs, choking him with petals. He keeps the petals he coughs up a secret, but it’s getting hard to hide. The only thing that can stop its trajectory is if the person he’s in love with returns his feelings.Shiro doesn’t even know who it is he’s sick for—Keith is Shiro’s anchor, his sun; but Allura is his compass and stars. Either way, it doesn’t matter. Neither of them could ever be his. They’ve each made their feelings for him—or lack thereof—known.Not to mention the fate of the known universe is contingent on their upcoming marriage.The coughing attacks get worse, but he can’t let them find out why. All he can do is try to push down his longing and watch as, little by little, Keith and Allura fall in love.





	Pulmonary

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a drawing I did a while back. Obviously it turned into an angsty sickfic because I have no self control.
> 
> Huge thanks to K-Lionheart for helping me figure out how to make this story work better!

It starts with a petal.

Shiro doesn’t remember when, exactly. There are so many other, more important things going on at the time that it doesn’t really stand out. But it starts with him alone in his room, doubled over, overtaken by a coughing fit.

Something is caught in his airway, making it hard to breathe. He coughs, and he coughs, until something crumpled and velveteen and _solid_ finds its way out of his lungs.

Fragile and thin, it tears when he tries to unfold it with his right hand—some things just aren’t meant for metal fingers—but he’s able to piece it back together with his left. Pale pink and streaked with crimson, it’s unmistakeably a flower petal. The floral taste lingering at the back of his throat confirms it.

It would be pretty, were it in a different context. As it stands, it’s bizarre and grotesque, having come from _inside_ of him.

He’s wary and confused, but he doesn’t dwell on it. Maybe it’s a one-time thing.

 

It’s not.

It happens again and again, week after week. One petal becomes two; two becomes three.

“What did the Galra do to me?” Shiro whispers, hunched over the wastebasket in his room. Maybe they needed a host body for some sort of parasitic plant. Maybe it’s a side effect of one of the experiments they conducted on him. Maybe they did it purely out of amusement—he wouldn’t put it past them.

At this point, it doesn’t matter. All he can do is try to adapt.

 

He manages to keep it under control for the most part, able to hide it from the others. He’s able to wait until night to expel the petals from his lungs in the privacy of his room.

But it gets harder, and his chest hurts more each time. As he struggles for breath, he wonders if this will do what no one in the arena was able to. Maybe this will be how the Galra finally do him in.

* * *

 

It wasn’t the Galra.

“It’s a disease,” Lance explains.

During a rare moment of downtime, Lance, Hunk, and Pidge sit on the floor of the lounge, weaving crowns out of flowers they’d picked earlier that afternoon. They’re pale yellow and amethyst and vibrant blue, in an assortment of shapes and sizes. The aroma is sweet and strong. Shiro doesn’t particularly want to be anywhere near them.

Sitting a little distance away on the couch, he listens to the others engage in idle chatter, now on the topic of things flowers remind them of. Keith and Allura are off doing something else, and Shiro tries not to dwell on their absence. There’s no reason he should even be thinking about either of them.

“Is it even real?” Hunk asks, plucking one of Pidge’s blue flowers. “I thought Hanahaki was just in stories. It seems kinda, y’know. Not possible?”

Pidge snatches the flower back from Hunk. “It’s exceedingly rare, and no one’s been able to figure out the exact pathophysiological mechanism, but there have been a few documented cases.”

“Okay, so what does a disease have to do with flowers?” Shiro asks, politely, engaging in the conversation to keep his mind here, in the lounge.

“Hanahaki’s this really awful disease where some kind of spore or something infects someone’s lungs, and it, like, feeds off of longing,” Lance explains. “It’s pretty messed up. If the person’s in love with someone who doesn’t love them back, flowers start to grow in their lungs, and they start coughing them up.”

That gets Shiro’s attention. He goes still.

“If the person they’re in love with never reciprocates their feelings, it gets worse until they can’t breathe, and eventually they die,” Lance says. “Crazy, right? It’s the premise of, like, eight of my favourite fanfictions.”

With as much casualness as he can muster, Shiro asks, “Is there a cure?”

“Well, technically, the flowers can be surgically removed,” Pidge says, “but the procedure makes it so the person can’t love anyone ever again in any capacity. It’s fascinating, really. The roots must create some sort of connection between the lungs and the limbic system—”

“And the surgery affects existing relationships too, right?” Hunk says, adding a flower to Lance’s crown. “Like friends and family.”

“Yeah,” Pidge nods. “It’s really interesting. According to the case studies, the pathogen itself is only affected by love in the romantic sense, but the surgery makes it so the person can’t feel love of any kind.”

Lance places his crown atop Pidge’s head. “That’s, like, worse than terminal.”

Silently, Shiro agrees.

Even when Shiro was a prisoner, he’d had people back home he loved. It had given him something to hold onto, something to fight for. Now, more than ever, he needs the people he loves. He needs them to lift his spirits, to help him through fear and pain, to give him a reason to keep going. He needs them to keep him on the right path. He’s terrified of the monster he could become if he didn’t have the capacity for love. No, surgery is not an option.

He excuses himself.

Alone in his room, chest aching, he coughs up a few petals into his hand. It’s clear what this is, there’s no denying it.

What Shiro doesn’t know is who it is he’s in love with.

Shiro loves Keith, no question. Keith has always understood Shiro in a way no one else ever has, able to read Shiro like an open book and figure out exactly what he needs. Shiro’s closer to Keith than anyone else in the entire universe. He’s loved Keith for ages. But what started out as platonic has become… something else.

From the moment Shiro woke up in that shack in the desert to find Keith watching over him, his heart has filled with warmth every time he’s laid eyes on him. At first, he’d thought it was the sense of security Keith’s presence brought, the sheer relief of knowing he wasn’t with the Galra anymore and knowing Keith was there—he’d missed him so _much._ He’d thought the reason his heart leapt every time Keith put a hand on his shoulder or nudged his arm was just because he’d been so starved for comfort.

But even though Shiro’s not so desperate or skin-hungry anymore, he still craves Keith’s touch. He _longs_ for it. He savours the warmth of his name on Keith’s tongue. His feelings are decidedly not platonic, not anymore. It should be obvious that he’s in love with Keith.

The thing is, Shiro feels things for Allura, too.

While his feelings for Keith developed gradually over time, he fell for Allura hard and fast.

Allura is a symphony, a collision; she’s so many things all at once. She’s calm, collected, delicate; she’s a storm, a landslide, a force to be reckoned with. Gentle and harsh, serious and playful, disciplined and impulsive, confident and unsure. She’s a puzzle, a mosaic, and Shiro falls for her further with every piece he finds.

Shiro and Allura fit together from the start. Both too young trying to act too mature, with far too much on their shoulders. Both hurting, but too stubborn and afraid to let anyone else see. Neither could imagine what the other had been through, but they had in each other something the others couldn’t understand.

Nightmares that kept Shiro from sleeping, combined with Allura’s stamina and grief, had led to many late nights on the bridge together. They’d look out at the stars, with held hands and heads on shoulders. It started out as solace; it turned into habit. She’d soothe him with stories about Altea, and listen with rapt interest to every detail he could remember about life on Earth.

Even when he didn’t have nightmares, he’d find himself seeking her out, just to hear the lilt in her voice or see starlight in her smile. He ached for her, dreamt of more than held hands. Nights with Allura always left him wanting more.

Together, they are everything. Keith is Shiro’s anchor, and Allura is his compass. Keith is his sun, Allura his stars. He doesn’t know which one of them he’s in love with.

Either way, it doesn’t matter. Neither of them could ever be his.

Keith has made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t have feelings for Shiro, not romantically. _‘You’re like a brother to me,’_ he’d said. Shiro should have been so happy to hear those words, to hear how much he mattered to Keith. Instead, petty as it is, the words had stung. Though he’d known it all along, the affirmation had still hit him like a punch to the gut.

But while he’d always known his relationship with Keith would never be anything but platonic, he’d actually (naively, foolishly) thought Allura might feel something for him. So Shiro asked her, one day, with his arm around her waist and his heart in his throat, if she’d ever want a relationship. Thinly veiled in the guise of a rhetorical question, she’d seen right through it. And she’d pulled away and said no. It had been diplomatic, apologetic, but a no all the same.

So in the end, it doesn’t matter which one of them he’s in love with. Either way, it wouldn’t make a difference. There’s nothing to be done about it, nothing to do but wait.

* * *

 

The petals become a nightly occurrence, and dry coughing spells start to strike him during the day. The others worry, but he tells them it’s just a cough—he doesn’t have any other symptoms; it won’t affect any of his duties. He’s fine.

It’s not like there’s time to rest, anyway. There’s a new threat at the edges of their known universe. The Vyraxia have been taking over everything in sight, planets part of the Voltron Coalition and under Galra rule alike. The insidious threat has been gradual but relentless. Their fleets are _enormous_ , and they just keep growing; they’re far too numerous and widespread for the Coalition to take on alone.

Fortunately, the Coalition now has a formal peace treaty with the Galra, now under new leadership. Unfortunately, peace is a fragile thing, and a peace treaty is not the same as an alliance. There’s still so much bad blood and distrust on both sides.

“This whole thing’s been a giant mess from the start, and it’s only getting worse,” Keith groans, dragging a frustrated hand through his dark hair. He, Shiro, Allura, and Coran sit around the table in the centre of the war room in their latest meeting. “Nothing is working!”

Shiro steals the opportunity to touch Keith’s shoulder in a calming gesture. “We’ll figure something out,” he says. He has no idea how they’re going to do that, but telling the team they can do anything if they just believe in themselves works about 95% of the time.

“It does seem hopeless,” Allura sighs, her voice weighed down with fatigue and dejection. “How can we possibly unite our forces when no one trusts one another?”

Keith’s muscles are drawn taut beneath his skin. “I don’t get it. We have a peace treaty. The Vyraxia are going to wipe _everyone_ out if we don’t join forces. And it’s not like the Galra aren’t willing to fight. But this is the fifth Galra faction in a row I’ve talked to that won’t even _consider_ negotiating with us.” He lets loose an aggravated sigh. “Ughhh. I hate this.”

Shadows are etched deep under Keith’s eyes. With his unique position as a bridge between the Galra and the Voltron Coalition, he’s been taking the lead on trying to get the two to join forces. Keith doesn’t enjoy the role, but he knows it’s necessary if they want to even stand a chance against the Vyraxia, and when Keith believes in something, he gives it his all. He’s been throwing everything he has into the effort, and it’s been visibly wearing on him.

“I know politics isn’t your favourite,” Shiro says, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “I know you’d probably rather be out in the field with the others, helping with some of the rebuilding efforts. But I’m proud of you for sticking this out. It might be tough, but what you’re doing is really important.”

“Indeed,” Allura agrees. “If the Galra will listen to anyone, it’s you. Although I’m afraid the Altean presence in the Coalition has made your job considerably harder.” An Altean presence in the Coalition is no longer just a pipe dream. Once again, Allura’s a princess in more than just title.

As they’ve travelled the universe, they’ve discovered several Altean colonies, founded by the descendants of those who’d been off world at the time of Altea’s destruction. They’d gone into hiding, blending in with the local populations, but they’d started to come out of the woodwork, upon hearing of Princess Allura’s existence and her work with Voltron. The Coalition has been connecting the colonies, and recently, the Alteans have found a suitable uninhabited planet to call their own. Though not tied down to the planet, Allura is their princess, and the council consults with her on an ongoing basis.

It’s wonderful that Allura has found her people, and that a considerable number of Alteans have joined the Coalition. It truly is. But not everyone sees it that way.

“It’s understandable,” Coran says. “The Galra Empire dragged Altea’s name through the mud for ten thousand years. Galra citizens and others under Galra rule have been indoctrinated in the belief that Alteans can’t be trusted.”

“The rumours proliferated by the Galra have spread across galaxies, too. I’ve come across some non-Galra occupied planets that are also wary of the Alteans,” Shiro admits.

“Well, it’s not just one-sided,” Allura sighs. “Regardless of what I say, many Alteans are still strongly opposed to cooperating with the Galra. Not everyone has had a Keith to change their minds,” she adds, giving Keith a warm look.

Keith ducks his head slightly at that, hiding the beginnings of a smile. It’s horribly endearing, and Shiro has to force himself to keep his gaze elsewhere.

“Yes. Unfortunately, that’s led to some problems within the Coalition, too.” Shiro looks at Allura. “Obviously it’s not true, but some of the planets that advocate joining forces with the Galra are afraid you’ll put the interests of Altea before Voltron and the rest of the Coalition.”

Allura’s delicate shoulders slump. “It would seem I’m not very popular these days,” she says, with a wan smile. “I tried to recruit some of the unallied planets in this sector, but many of the leaders wouldn’t even speak with me at all.”

“Yeah, a lot of Galra aren’t too keen on talking with you either,” Keith admits, apologetically. “But some of their reasons don’t even make sense. Like, some have said stuff about you only being a princess. Why would that matter? What do they even _mean_ by ‘only’?”

It’s a good question. Shiro’s heard the same from some of the planets he’s tried to talk to— _tried_ being the operative word.

Coran sighs, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “The Galra Empire is steeped in tradition, as are some of the other planets we’ve been unable to get onboard,” he explains. “Title and rank are important to many of them, and some of the higher-ups will only negotiate with people of a certain status.”

Allura narrows her eyes. “But I am the Princess of Altea.”

“Princess, yes,” Coran says, reluctantly. “But not Queen.”

Allura’s lips part. “But to become Queen…”

“Yes,” Coran says. “And the Galra know exactly what that would entail, so I would advise you to abandon that train of thought, Princess.”

“No.” Allura’s jaw is set in stubborn determination, and she’s never looked more beautiful. “We must work together if we are to have any hope of defending ourselves against this threat. I have to do whatever I can to make that happen. I am of age, Coran.”

“But Princess—“

“What’re you guys even talking about?” Keith interrupts.

“In order to become Queen, I would need to get married,” Allura says, matter-of-factly. “It’s the perfect opportunity. If I marry a Galra, in addition to granting me the title, it would strengthen ties between our people. It would show commitment to an alliance between us, a display of trust.”

Shiro’s heart plummets. “But what about what you want?”

“What _I_ want is peace between our people and a united front against the Vyraxia,” Allura says.

“Who would you even marry?” Shiro blurts out. It’s impudent; he shouldn’t be questioning her like this if this is what she wants, but—

“Me,” Keith offers. “If you want.”

Impossibly, Shiro’s insides constrict further. “Keith—”

“What?” he asks, indigo eyes dead serious. “Allura could become Queen. I’m Galra, and I’m also part of the Blade of Marmora, which has been one of the integral forces in piecing the former Galra Empire back together. Plus, as co-leader of Voltron, it’d show Allura’s commitment to the Voltron Coalition. Three birds.”

“Yes. I’m not entirely certain what a specific number of birds has to do with this,” Allura says, receiving a shrug from Coran, “but the rest of what you said makes perfect sense. If you’re agreeable to it, Keith, then let’s.”

A coughing fit takes Shiro. There’s an audible _crunch_ as the armrest he’d been gripping with his right hand gives. He can taste petals at the back of his throat. He swallows them down.

Keith places a comforting hand on his back. “Shiro, are you alright?”

“Fine,” he gasps, after he can breathe again. “I’m fine.”

“Are you certain?” Allura asks, frowning. “You look pale.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” he insists.

“If you say so,” Allura says, voice laced with scepticism but letting it slide. “Well, then. Are there any objections to this plan?”

“If it’s Keith? None whatsoever,” Coran says. Any trace of reluctance has completely vanished. The smile beneath his moustache is over the moon.

“Makes sense to me,” Shiro says, because there’s no good reason he can give for them not to. It’s not like this changes anything for him anyway. “As long as you’re both really okay with this.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Keith asks. “I don’t see what the big deal is. We already work closely together. We’re good friends. And it’s not like we haven’t already had—”

Coran clears his throat, loudly.

“—a good working relationship,” Keith finishes, but there’s a knowing quirk to his lips and laughter in Allura’s eyes, and it takes everything Shiro has to push down the unreasonable twinge of jealousy that rises. It’s no secret some of the paladins have hooked up before—space gets lonely—though Shiro hadn’t realized the two of them had. Not that it’s any of his business. And not that it matters in the slightest. (And he is absolutely in no way aroused by the thought, not at all.)

“Yes,” Allura says, eyes still twinkling with amusement. She turns to Shiro. “It is only a ceremony. Politics aside, this won’t change anything.”

* * *

 

Things change. It’s in small ways, but in ways Shiro’s attuned to and can’t ignore. It’s in furtive glances, whispered words, and hands that brush against one another. It’s in the way Allura beams at Keith, and the soft smiles he returns, the kind he never used to give anyone else. It’s in the way the two spend more and more time together, both by necessity and by choice.

Little by little, Shiro watches Allura and Keith fall in love.

It was inevitable, really. As they spent more time together and got to know each other on a deeper level, how could Allura not fall for Keith? How could Keith not fall for Allura?

Shiro doesn’t see them all that often. A lot of work goes into a royal wedding, especially one to be attended by thousands of diplomats from across the universe, and the two have a lot of preparation to do before the ceremony. There are all sorts of customs that need to be incorporated—Altean, Galran, and intergalactic. For this to be the political success they need it to be, it has to be executed flawlessly, and that requires a lot of planning and a lot of practice.

He finds Allura teaching Keith how to dance, once. He’s supposed to remind them about the dinner Coran prepared, but he loses his words when he sees them. Keith’s never been one for dances, but he seems perfectly fine with this, with one hand on Allura’s shoulder, the other on her hip. She guides him, speaking steps in his ear, and he follows with the same intensity he has when learning new combat moves or during training drills.

Allura sweeps across the floor with just as much elegance and grace as one would expect, but Keith, too, moves with fluidity and precision. It’s mesmerizing. They don’t notice Shiro’s presence, so he stays where he is.

As they keep going, Keith’s moves become more confident, more self-assured. Shiro catches Keith’s small grins when he _gets_ something, and the way Allura’s face lights up at his enthusiasm. The space between them gets progressively smaller with each dance. By the time Shiro can force his feet to move, Allura’s head rests on Keith’s shoulder, their fingers intertwined.

The envy Shiro feels is contemptible, but he coughs up an entire flower that night.

And it gets worse.

One evening, when Shiro’s walking by the observation room of the training deck, he notices Keith and Allura sparring below. He doesn’t mean to watch them, and he certainly doesn’t mean to _keep_ watching, but he can’t tear his eyes away.

Keith’s training and experience on the battlefield has honed his raw talent, shaping him into a truly formidable fighter. He’s fast and skilled and strong enough at this point to actually go up against Allura.

They’re not wearing their paladin armour or weapons, just their skin-tight undersuits. Keith’s ink-black hair glistens with sweat; Allura’s updo has started to come undone, strands of silver falling around her face. Their faces are flushed; their eyes are bright.

It’s a flurry of strikes and dodges, blocks and blows. Toe-to-toe, hand-to-hand, skin against skin.

Keith lunges for Allura; she catches him by the arm. With her considerable strength, she flips him over, slamming him flat on his back. Fingers curled around her wrist, he pulls her down with him. He rolls them over, pinning her down, assuming a mounted position. She scoots backward, but he traps her hips between his thighs. Feet planted firmly on the ground, she raises her hips and bucks, pulling him toward her. He falls forward, his chest flush against hers. She wraps her legs around his waist. He… stays where he is.

They grin at each other through panted breaths. And then, in a tangle of limbs and sweat, he’s kissing her, and she’s kissing him. And Shiro’s watching them like a goddamn voyeur, green-eyed and wanting.

There’s shame boiling in his gut and fire spreading in his lungs. The roots dig in deep; the flowers feed. It’s selfish, so selfish—how can he be anything but happy for them? He should be happy for them, but it _hurts._

Alone in the observation room, Shiro coughs, and he coughs, and he can’t stop coughing. He falls to his knees, choking, petals scattered all around him.

By the time the fit subsides, his vision is fuzzy at the edges. Gathering up the mess of petals, he notes they’re flecked with blood. _Not good._ At least nobody saw. Not yet, anyway. But the pattern is undeniable at this point: being around Keith and Allura worsens his symptoms.

It’s dangerous to be near them. If either of them were to see the petals, they’d figure it out. If they don’t already know about the disease, they’d learn about it from the others. They’d know it was one of them—Allura already knows how he feels about her, and if Keith isn’t already aware, he’d know it wasn’t anyone back on Earth, and he’d figure it out by process of elimination.

If they were to find out, they might do something rash, like call off the wedding. Even if it wouldn’t change the trajectory of the illness, he wouldn’t put it past them—especially Keith. He can’t let that happen. That, and when the inevitable happens, he can’t let either of them feel guilty about not returning his feelings. They _can’t_ find out.

So Shiro keeps his distance.

They’re not around that often, but when they do seek him out, he pushes them away. He hides behind a sharp tone and a cold demeanour. He finds something else he has to do every time they ask to do something together, finds somewhere else to go when they’re close by.

It hurts the two of them, he knows. Even the other paladins, who are barely around, notice and confront him about it. Shiro cites stress and wanting them to focus on the wedding. He’ll apologize to them later. Until then, he pulls away.

Of course, Shiro can’t avoid them entirely. When he can’t, he does his best not to notice the way Keith stands next to Allura, close enough for their shoulders to touch; the way she interlaces her fingers with his when she thinks no one’s looking. He tries not to notice them getting closer and closer, until they’re practically joined at the hip. (Hips, sometimes; they’re not as subtle as they think they are.)

He manages to swallow the flowers down each time, but there are more and more close calls. Despite his attempts to avoid them, his feelings are stronger than ever. His breathing gets shallower, his coughing harsher. He’s dizzy from lack of oxygen and so, so tired. Luckily, his tasks are mostly political; they don’t involve much fighting, so he’s not endangering anyone in the field. Still, the others worry.

 

“Shiro.” Allura finds him on the bridge one night, waist-deep in charts and maps, plotting which sector to approach next. He makes to leave, but she places a delicate hand on his arm. Though his heart stutters, he stays where he is. He’s missed that touch so badly. “Shiro, I know you may not wish to speak with me, or be anywhere near me for that matter, but please. I’m concerned about you. We all are.”

“I’m fine, Princess,” he says, stiffly.

“You keep saying that, but your condition is getting worse.”

“I told you, I’ve looked into it. There’s nothing I can take for it. It’ll resolve itself.”

She runs electric fingertips down his arm, coming to rest over his hand. A frighteningly pleasurable shiver runs through him. “But it could be worthwhile to get a second opinion. You may not have to suffer through it—there could be a cure we don’t know about. Surely someone at one of the space hospitals will have seen something like it before—”

Nerves tingling, he pulls his hand out from under hers. “I said I’m _fine_.” He brings up another star map. “We have work to do.”

She hesitates a few moments before speaking again. She draws closer. Too close to ignore. “Shiro, there’s something else I’ve been meaning to speak with you about.”

His blood is still surging from her touch. “Maybe later, Princess,” he says, not moving his eyes from the charts.

“Shiro, please, look at me.”

Her smooth fingertips move to his jawline to tilt his face toward her. He chokes.

An attack hits him, hard.

“Shiro!” Her hand sweeps down to his spine in a comforting gesture as he coughs. Petals rise, and he doesn’t think he can swallow them down this time. He has to get away.

He jerks away from her, gasping out a ragged, “Don’t—“ when she reaches out again. He leaves the bridge without looking back at her, walking as fast as he can back to his own room through tilting corridors.

He barely makes it, and petals spill forth from his lips as soon as the door shuts. His head spins. “I’m sorry, Allura,” he whispers. He’s not sure how much longer he can keep this up.

 

Keith finds Shiro in the kitchen one evening. Shiro came to get something to soothe his raw throat, though he’s paused his pursuit for the moment, leaning against the wall until the room stops spinning.

Keith makes a beeline for him. He frowns as he draws closer, inspecting him. “Shiro,” he says, his voice tender despite the wrinkle in his brow. “You really don’t look good. I really think you should see someone.”

Keith brings his hand to Shiro’s face to check his temperature, but Shiro flinches away before he makes contact. “Keith, I’m _fine.”_

Keith drops his hand. He looks away. “Look, I get it if you don’t like hospitals, but I just… Shiro, I can’t…”

A lump rises in Shiro’s throat, and despite himself, he brings a hand to Keith’s shoulder. He should keep his distance, but habit won’t let him. “Everything’s gonna be okay, Keith,” he says. “It’ll get better.”

Keith takes a step forward, closing the distance between them, and adrenaline courses through Shiro’s veins. “You’re sure?” Keith asks in a bare whisper.

Shiro doesn’t want to lie to him, but the truth isn’t an option. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

“Good,” Keith says with a small sigh. In a tender gesture, he leans in and rests his cheek against Shiro’s chest.

Shiro starts coughing, hard.

Petals fill his mouth. He swallows them, but more come. He can’t keep them all down. “Keith,” he gasps, between coughs. “Can you—Water—“

“I’m on it,” Keith says, leaping into action.

When Keith’s back is turned, Shiro coughs up the damp petals into his palm. They keep coming; it’s so hard to breathe.

As soon as it subsides, he stuffs the petals into one of his pouches, and not a moment too soon.

Keith returns, poking the straw into the water packet for Shiro. “Here.”

Shiro reaches for it, but Keith freezes and drops it to the ground before Shiro can take it. Eyes saucer-wide, he yanks Shiro’s hand toward him, flipping his palm up. “Shiro, is that _blood_?”

It’s a rhetorical question; there’s nothing else the deep red smeared across his hand could be. “Keith,” he rasps, “I know it looks bad—“

Keith’s eyes flicker up to Shiro’s face, and his eyes go even wider. “Shiro, your lips are _blue_. You’re coughing up blood. You _have_ to go to the hospital. This isn’t up for debate, not anymore.”

It was never up for debate. They _can’t_ find out.

So as dirty and underhanded as it is, Shiro snaps, “What are you going to do, Keith? Strap me down and operate on me against my will?”

It’s a horrible thing to say, but Keith recoils and doesn’t push further.

“Look,” Shiro sighs, unable to keep up the sharp tone. “I know it seems like it’s getting worse, but the disease just needs to run its course. It’ll be over soon.”

* * *

 

It’s a beautiful day for a wedding. The sky of New Altea is a delicate turquoise, marbled with emerald green. Two suns shine bright overhead; a third, fainter one just barely peeks over the horizon. The newly built hall is open to the sky, built out of iridescent white metal in a pleasing combination of smooth curves and sharp angles. It’s decorated lavishly, awash with gold, purple, and cyan ornaments. Music fills the hall with notes in strange timbres; it’s unlike any sound on Earth, but it’s divine. There are also arrangements of flowers strewn about. The flowers are decidedly not Shiro’s favourite decoration—the sight and smell turn his stomach—but he can appreciate how, in anyone else’s eyes, they would be picturesque.

Pidge, Lance, and Hunk stand with Shiro on the giant stage at the front of the hall, positioned between Coran and Kolivan. They don’t have to do anything in the ceremony; their presence on stage is more symbolic than anything. The four of them do make fine decorations, dressed in the best New Altea has to offer.

They overlook an ocean of people. As they’d hoped, thousands of delegates have shown up from across the universe. Different species intermingle as they wait for the ceremony to start, Galra included. Shiro doesn’t trust the ridiculous lip-reading interpretations Hunk, Lance, and Pidge are engaged in beside him (quieter now, after receiving a stern look from Kolivan), but the body language of the delegates suggests the conversations are going well. Already, the wedding has been a significant step toward peace.

Coran steps forward, getting the crowd’s attention. And then the ceremony begins.

Allura and Keith take the stage, hand in hand, and Shiro’s heart judders. The two are absolutely stunning, impossibly beautiful. Allura’s long, flowing dress is cut to reveal her bare shoulders; Keith’s dark suit is sleek against his body, trimmed in gold. More than that, they look genuinely _happy._ Allura’s smile is dazzling, radiant; the upturn of Keith’s lips is warm and sincere.

The ceremony is interesting. Intrinsically, Shiro knows this. But he can’t pay attention, not when he’s focused on fighting his lungs and their contents the entire time. He’s happy for them, he _is,_ but his traitorous body says otherwise.

It’s a struggle, but he’s able to stifle his coughing enough that it’s not too disruptive, and he manages to swallow all the petals that rise up. He makes it through a series of physical trials; a complicated dance ritual; a sword ceremony; a symbolic crowning; a succession of promises, sealed with kisses on cheeks. He lasts until Keith and Allura are officially pronounced married.

It’s not long enough.

When, in an Earthly tradition, Allura and Keith share a kiss on the lips, a coughing attack takes Shiro and refuses to let go. Flowers bloom in his chest and his trachea crowds with petals; there’s no room for oxygen _._ Doubled over, it’s a short fall to his hands and knees.

Flowers spill past his lips onto the floor as he chokes, spattering the sparkling white surface with blood. The cheers of the crowd quickly die out, replaced with anxious murmuring. People closer to him are shouting. He can’t hear what they’re saying, but it doesn’t matter. He’s already ruined everything.

He can’t breathe.

Asphyxiated by flowers, of all things; flowers and longing. In a mess of blood and petals, his vision fades, and he passes out.

* * *

 

Shiro wakes up in the infirmary.

He immediately starts coughing. Rough hands help him to sit up and lean forward, keeping the petals from going back down his throat. Petals cascade from his lips until, finally, there’s a bit more room for air.

As he sucks in short breaths, he notices something cool and metallic strapped to his chest, and panic surges through him. He should be over this by now. He’s not. Instinctively, he tries to tear it off.

Strong hands hold his wrists, stopping him. “It’s a ventilator. Please, keep it on.” He’d recognize that voice anywhere. _Allura._

“I don’t need it,” Shiro says in a hoarse whisper, followed immediately by more coughing.

A derisive snort, harsh and familiar. _Keith_. “Are you serious? Am I supposed to believe you?”

 _“Please,”_ Shiro whispers, too exhausted to put up a front.

A pause, followed by a sigh. “Allura, get this thing off him.”

Delicate fingers free him from the medical device. There’s objectively less air in his lungs, but his breathing still comes easier. “Is that better? Are you able to breathe alright?” Allura asks.

Shiro nods. His breaths are short, painful, but steady. “Thank you,” he gasps.

As Allura sweeps the bloodstained petals from the sheets, the hands supporting his back and shoulders grip tighter. He can tell from his touch: Keith is absolutely livid.

Reluctantly, Shiro turns to meet his eyes. Sure enough, Keith explodes. “What the _hell_ , Shiro!”

“Lance, Pidge, and Hunk figured out what had happened,” Allura says, her voice terse. It’s the distant tone she uses when she’s trying to hold back her emotions. “They explained everything.”

Shiro flinches. “I’m sorry I ruined your wedding—”

“You did not, but that is _not_ our primary concern right now,” Allura says, sternly.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Keith snaps, furious.

Shiro’s words are stopped before he can get them out by a series of harsh coughs. Keith’s hands at his back are tense and rough against his skin. Still, they’re there to soothe. Despite his anger, he doesn’t stop trying to make Shiro feel better.

After the coughing has subsided, Keith brings his hands to his lap, staring down at them. “Shiro.” His voice has dropped, hushed now, hurt. “How could you keep this from us?”

“What would saying anything have accomplished? You’ve both made it clear how you feel—or don’t feel—about me.” There’s no bite to it. Shiro’s just _tired,_ too tired to soften his words. “You think of me as a brother. And you didn’t want a relationship—at least, not with me,” he says, looking at Keith and Allura respectively. “I didn’t say anything because there’s nothing you could’ve done about it. Even if you’d wanted to, it’s not like you can just force yourself to fall in love with someone. I didn’t want to put that on you.”

Keith and Allura exchange a horrified glance. Keith’s gone a few shades too pale; his hands are white-knuckled and trembling. Tears gather in Allura’s eyes, a hand clapped over her mouth.

“That’s why…?” Keith’s voice chokes. He rubs his fingers together in an absent gesture, the way he does when he’s trying to hold back tears. “Shiro, I was lying when I said that,” he admits, quietly. “I’ve been in love with you for years. Since way back at the Garrison, back when I was still a kid. I—I was so sure you would never feel the same way. I was scared it would mess up our friendship if you found out, so I never told you. I—I thought you thought of me as family, so during the Trial, that’s what I said. It was the closest thing I could think of. I’m so sorry, Shiro.” His voice wavers. “I never thought…”

“I am also to blame,” Allura interjects, placing a calming hand over Keith’s without looking away from Shiro. “I hurt you, and for that, I am truly, deeply sorry.” A tear slips loose down either cheek. “I was not entirely truthful either. I did want it. A relationship with you. But I thought there wasn’t time, that there were more important priorities, and… I was also afraid. The last person I felt anything for turned on me and partook in the destruction of Altea. I was terrified of falling in love.

“This,” Allura says, holding up her and Keith’s entwined hands, “was supposed to be business, nothing more. I never imagined I would grow to feel for Keith anything like what I felt for you. What I _still_ feel for you. Keith has changed my mind about a great many things, including my fears about a relationship. But by then, I thought it was too late. You didn’t seem to want to be anywhere near me. I was certain you didn’t feel the same way, not anymore.”

A gamut of muddled, tangled emotions courses through Shiro with each word, crashing over him like a tidal wave. More flowers spill from his lungs.

“Even if… even if that’s the case,” Shiro gasps, “I couldn’t have asked you to call off your wedding. Not with the stakes. Not when you two are clearly happy together. And… and even if I did, I don’t even know which one of you I…”

“You wouldn’t _have_ to,” Keith says, his voice exasperated and tempered at the same time. His hand still linked with Allura’s, he leans against Shiro. “You don’t have to.”

“I don’t understand,” Allura says. “Why would that have interfered with our wedding? What do you mean, ‘which one’?”

“Oh. The two of us are from a mostly monogamous culture,” Keith explains.

“Ah, I see. So were many Alteans, and many Galra, too,” Allura says. “But there are many exceptions, especially among royalty. It is quite common for monarchs to have more than one consort. Am I correct in assuming that is not the case on Earth?”

“Kinda. It used to be; not so much anymore,” Keith says. “But we’re not on Earth,” he adds, giving Shiro a pointed look.

“We are not.” Allura places a slender hand over Shiro’s chest. Shiro’s heart races, thumping against his ribcage. “I am so sorry you’ve suffered, Shiro. But you needn’t any longer. This can easily be remedied.”

“You… you’d really want…”

“ _Yes,”_ Keith says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the universe. He nestles closer, pressing his cheek against Shiro’s collarbone. “Have you been listening to a word we’ve said? Of _course_ we do, Shiro.”

Allura brings her fingertips to brush against Shiro’s cheek. “We do,” she affirms. “Keith and I have even discussed this before. On a number of occasions.”

“In _great detail_. In a _variety of ways_ ,” Keith adds, subtle as a brick.

Allura smiles, a faint blush dusting her cheeks. “It has been a longstanding fantasy we’ve shared.”

“We want this, Shiro,” Keith insists, placing the hand that isn’t in Allura’s over Shiro’s. “There’s literally _nothing_ in the universe that would make us happier.”

“Not even a united front against the Vyraxia?”

“We are well on our way toward that already,” Allura says with a smile, squeezing Keith’s hand.

“You didn’t ruin the wedding,” Keith assures Shiro, before he can say anything.

“No,” Allura confirms. “Everyone was worried, of course, but once your vitals had stabilized, Coran went back to reassure our guests you’d make a full recovery. The other paladins are out there too, now, ensuring they are entertained and well looked after. Lance certainly knows how to work a crowd.”

“As long as Coran’s not the one providing the entertainment,” Shiro says with a weak smile, eliciting a smirk from Keith and restrained laughter from Allura.

“No. We’ve got time,” Keith says.

“So, Shiro.” Allura’s gaze is deep and steady. “Since we obviously need to work on our communication skills, I want to make it absolutely clear: from the bottom of our hearts, with everything we have, we love you.”

Keith nods, his midnight eyes equally intense. He squeezes Shiro’s hand. “In every way,” he says, punctuating each word.

“We’ve spoken about it before, and we’d like to make it official,” Allura says. “We want the universe to know. So, Shiro. Will you join us in our marriage?”

They love him.

They _love_ him.

“Yes,” Shiro says, and the roots in his lungs release their hold.

 

Coughing up the fragmented roots and the rest of the flowers is neither painless nor pretty, but Allura and Keith help him through it, refusing to leave his side.

They bring him water and clean blankets. They distract him with stories, describing some of the interesting customs they’d come across in preparing for the wedding, and exchanging quips over some of the more unfortunate ones. They soothe him with warm words and calming touches. And when the worst of it is over, they clean him up with the gentlest of hands.

Before they head back, they ask if Shiro’s sure, absolutely _sure_ he’s not too tired to return to the wedding. This time, he tells them the truth: he’s exhausted, but he’ll be okay for a little while. As tempting as a nap sounds, there’s plenty of time for that later.

Later, he’ll curl up under a blanket with the two of them and have the best sleep he’s had in years. Until then, there are things to do.

By the time they return to the wedding, the sky has darkened to a vivid shade of teal, sprinkled with bright stars. The crowd cheers at their appearance. All eyes are on them as they step onto the platform, Allura and Keith on either side of him.

Allura steps a little closer to Shiro, bringing their shoulders to touch. Keith’s already there, close as can be. When the crowd hushes, Allura says, “We’d like to make an announcement.”

It ends with two kisses, one on each cheek, a display of affection and a promise. With nothing but love in his heart and air in his lungs, Shiro takes their hands, and together, they start something new. 

* * *

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought! Comments make my day. :)
> 
> I draw more things on [tumblr](https://littlewhitetie.tumblr.com). Come say hi! :)


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